


Jack of Diamonds

by huenkai



Series: A̸͍̗͕̅͒̕ľ̶̠͒̃w̴̞͉̽̏̋͛̚͝a̴̘͑͑̔̾͜y̴̫̘͇͊͒s̶̘̖̜̗̒̑ ̸̞̼̝̙̓̈́Ẇ̸͖̆̓͑a̶̝̅̈́̊ẗ̸͕͚͔͇͈̺́̓͛̋c̶̜̳͑͊̈́͗̽ḩ̴̹͎̭̮̊͛͜ì̷̩̾͝n̷̪̮̆̉̋̾͜͝g̸̟̬̬͋͊̍̚ [1]
Category: Video Blogging RPF, jacksepticeye, markiplier - Fandom
Genre: Bets, Card Dealer, Card dealing, Cheating, Gambling, Gen, Health, M/M, Magic, Magic Tricks, Paranormal, Poker, Prophecy, Psychic, Smoking, Soothsaying, Supernatural - Freeform, casino - Freeform, dealer, foresight
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-08
Updated: 2019-03-30
Packaged: 2019-06-07 16:25:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15223079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/huenkai/pseuds/huenkai
Summary: In which Marvin takes a night shift at the casino, where things go horribly wrong.





	1. Eighty Six

**Author's Note:**

> A small encounter between Marvin and Bim on that one, fateful night.
> 
> Might become an excerpt of an ongoing work of mine!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sober eyes betrayed his every word.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A backstory for the Masks and Mirrors chapter in my work, [Monsters Within](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14826203/chapters/34311294). Go check it out if you have the time!

Light chatter and hearty laughs reverberated in the entire floor. The soft clank of glass and the upbeat symphonies weaved between the noises and guffaws, and the smooth melodies bled into the ambience of the night. Plenty of men in their suits were either too occupied with their game or wasting good money by the slots. The stench of booze mixed with the suffocating stench of a cigarette hung in the air. Caught in the middle of it all was a distressed Marvin, who felt completely out of place. He wasn’t there to gamble. Heavens,  _no_. Not with his current circumstance. The magician missing his mask was simply working his nightly shift. Does he regret it? More or less, but the pay there was reasonably high.

Foams of champagne rose and bubbled at the brim of his glass, threatening to spill if he wasn’t careful. In almost an instant, the holder downed his drink in not less than a minute. Illuminating the side of his face was a dull red, his skin was painted in a pinkish hue. He was in his own world, wasting away on the booth with his tie loose and shirt ruffled. Disheveled hair sat on his head, seemingly swept out of place, either by accident or in frustration. Not too long ago, he was occupying one of the seats by the center table, confident in his set of cards. That moment was then short-lived the second he decided to go for a fold. Clearly, he had lost a big bet, and that won’t bode well with what he had in his pockets. Right on time, Marvin was done with his table. This meant he could go around and cater to the customer’s needs. And in this case, console a certain man, grieving over his loss and recklessness.

Perched precariously low on his nose was his glasses, the tipsy man flushed a deeper red the very second Marvin drew close. What a pretty face, he thought. Whether or not the approaching staff saw him burn up, the gambler didn’t care. The card dealer’s nose automatically scrunched up the moment he was in the area, trying to block out the strong smell of alcohol that invaded his nostrils. Regardless, he attended to his client, seeing his glass had been emptied. “Would you like some more, sir?”

The bespectacled man happily obliged. At once, the runner set off to retrieve a bottle. Upon his return, he poured another round of the fine liquor for a refill. Marvin expertly handled the container as he let the contents slid into his glass to the brink. His guest took the time to examine his face a little better, his eyes travelling up and down his beautiful figure from the head and down. By now, Marvin had been used to this, but he couldn’t help but fluster under his scrutinizing gaze. Cautiously balanced in between the grips of his gloved hands, the tall goblet stood still. Bending to his level, he held out the cup as the man reached out to him, the tips of their fingers touching. The sorcerer heated up at the small contact. His client then nodded in gratitude and gently took the glass from him. “Thank you.”

Something about the stranger intrigued him. It was part of their policy to make the customers comfortable as they possibly could, and Marvin sees to it that they get the best treatment there is. That, and he gets extra tips for every deed he’d done. This one was hardly pleased with his service. “Is there anything else I could do for you, sir?”

 “No, I don’t think so. All good here, thanks.” sober eyes betrayed his every word. It wasn’t like Marvin could force him to have a good time. Deep down, he really wished he could. “I’ll be fine.”

“Have a night, sir.”

With a single sip and a nod of his head, he replied. “Sure will.”

With that, he dismissed him with a nod of his head. Marvin pulled off a smile he’d been rehearsing before taking off. He had other things to attend to, he reminded himself.

Taking his spot by the tables, the dealer quietly spectated while the players were in the middle of their match. The players glancing between each other, eager to place higher bets. The higher the stake, the more thrilling it was to play. Marvin didn’t really care, and saw no point in throwing away millions only to vanish in one blink. That was simply life in the casino. And he hated every bit of it.

Shuffling decks of cards, and handing out chips and pieces had become part of his regular routine. He practically memorized everything in his time spent in that floor. But was it all worth it? Worth the thousands he get from his every check?

He was starting to think he should have pursued his Arts Major while he had the chance. It seems it was too late for him now. Plus, he wasn’t particularly fond of the smell of paint. That, and he gets nauseous whenever he smells a whiff of the decorative coating. If he were to be honest with himself, he preferred the paint over the suffocating tobacco that enter his lungs, over his magic tricks and of the sort.

At night, Marvin was rolling wheels, and inhaling secondhand smokes from extinguished flames. There was rarely a time when he didn’t pass by a smoker, considering he was pretty much all around the place. Marvin might as well have been a chip runner, but even that didn’t guarantee a high pay.

At day, he’s performing at birthday parties and pulling off a good show. He and his buddy, Wiggles, had it rough. The guy was never really fond of kids. Knowing the cynical clown, he would have preferred strangling kids and getting paid for it. He would consider this as his side job. The amount he was making wasn’t the only reason why.

Magic is a lie. It wasn’t real. If anything, it was actually the devil’s work. Illusions. Manipulation. The twisted truth. To him, magic will forever be both blessing and a curse. He borrows from dimensions beyond his reckoning, powers from which he can barely comprehend. That was why he used his magical feats to a minimum. His work doesn’t come cheap. For every spell and material he conjured, series of consequences would follow. It’s either he’d get incredibly sick or endure unbearable pain. It takes a heavy toll on his body, and he sure as hell didn’t want to push his physical form to its very limit.

But how was _this_ any different?

Tendrils of smoke crept into his nostrils, and he immediately gagged. Smothered butts of cigarettes piled on the ash tray, and another one was thrown into the small heap. The longer he’d been there, the more he was exposed to the risks. This was his _health_ at stake here. Tracing where the smoke was coming from, he then pins the man. The part-timer was very much tempted to snatch the tobacco from in between the player’s fingers, so he could dispose of it. He would have doused it out with alcohol. He was really considering it. Marvin had an even better idea.

Pulling out a fake card, the player was caught red-handed. Marvin just so happened to stand behind him. This gave him a reason to kick him out of his seat.

The trick was called the second deal. “I would have to ask you to leave, sir.”

“Why?”

“Seat _open_.” called the dealer, standing his ground.

“You _cheated_. Ratted me out,” accused his drunken client. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

Marvin wasn’t stupid. He knew he was trying to shift the blame on him, but he wouldn’t allow such a thing to happen. “I beg your pardon, sir?”

“Unlike your cards, you don’t know who you’re dealing with.” the sham was practically seething with anger.

Tapping the enraged man on the shoulder, a voice spoke out of nowhere. Slightly slurred, but clear enough to make sense. “Excuse me, but is there a problem here?”

“And who the hell are you supposed to be?” snapped the cheat, prying his hands off his shoulder.

“Bim Trimmer. And I bet the Jims would  _love_  to hear about this.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, here’s a little note.
> 
> This was all inspired by the time when we passed all these casinos. A relative of ours had this friend who worked as a dealer, (a manager maybe), and the first person that popped into my head was Marvin. At the time, I was working on the next chapter for my other draft so I could publish the next one.
> 
> I know I should be working on my other ongoing series, and updates were top priority, but I just can’t help it! This has been in my draft for a month now, so I thought this would be the perfect time to publish it! I do hope you enjoyed reading as much as I enjoyed writing it!


	2. Double or Nothing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You see, I’ve a pal. He’s been _dying_ to see you.”
> 
> “Sounds like someone I wouldn’t want to know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Been months, yeah, and I am very aware of that fact because constructing sentences was never this hard these past few months because I laCKED INSPIRATION. SORRY OMG.)

Before he knew it, everything was dark. And  _cold_.

Not a soul to be seen, or a single sound to be heard. That is, until now.

Senseless whispers reached his ears, chanting threats in distorted voices, telling him the same words over and  _over_  again.

Clapping his hands to his ears, the ringing still reached him, his mind spinning frenziedly. His knees buckled, and he hit the ground faster than he possibly could. Marvin’s lungs heaved labored breaths, his throat burning nastily.

**“There’s no place for you to run this time, magician.”**

It tells him.

He wanted to  _scream_. He wanted to know who this being was, but too weak to face them. He feels cornered. He feels  _powerless_. The slightest spark from the tips of his fingers won’t be enough to subdue (much less confront) the entity he was up against.

Then, it was gone.

A distinct glow radiated from a door, one which he wasn’t acquainted with, but his memory told him otherwise. His head was  _desperately_  trying to piece it out.

Coughs racked his entire body as he went into a fit before he could even think.

Nonexistent hands strangled him,  _squeezing_  him with its iron grip. Deranged cackles grow louder and louder by the passing second. He was on his sides, clawing and scratching at his throat, as if it would do him any better. It was as if it could let him  _breathe_ , but no. This allowed him no air as everything he did proved to be useless. And instead, his flesh was torn open, blood spill down his neck, oozing into his collar.

Then, it stopped.

Then, he was  _awake_.

A pained groan made its way out of his mouth, blinking through the inky darkness heavy on his eyes.

Needles drive into his head, and the painful recognition of the ice pack on his skin jolts him out of his slumber. It didn’t help that he was already cold as he is. A portion of his face had already gone numb from the exposure. There was a dull throbbing in his skull, his heart pulsated in a skittish pace. The scent of alcohol was strong, but the different kind. Marvin tried to squint his eyes open, stark white blinding him the moment he did. Bright light invaded his line of sight, making it hard to figure out where he was.

Limbs heavy with sleep, he tries to get up, only to fall back into his pillow. A hand holds him firmly on the shoulder to keep him there—making sure he  _stays_  there. First thing he sees was the ever doting doctor, going through the bottles and prescriptions while his hand steadies him into place.

Crouched over him, now to check on his bandages, Iplier gives an indifferent raise of a brow. “Look who decided to wake up.”

Groggily picking himself up, Marvin settled himself in between the pillows stacked under him. Other than a split lip, small bruising on his cheek, and a sore body, he was fine. He still can’t help but feel there was something he didn’t know. He was knocked right out of his consciousness—he basically had no idea how that even happened in the first place.

“How did I get here?” was his first question. The rest of the night was a blur to him. He had no idea how the hell he wind up in the hospital, and not a single recollection came into mind.

“Ask your boyfriend that.” smirked the man in his white coat, accompanied by a teasing wink, none of which Marvin understands.

The magician very nearly choked on his spit. “My  _what_ —?”

“Save the smooches for later. He’s still recovering as we speak.” advised the physician, smoothing out the wrinkles on his sheets. “I didn’t  _know_  you were into handsome men in suit.”

The idea of him with a lover didn’t appeal to him. Not even in the slightest. Marvin couldn’t stand what the doctor was implying. “Oh, shut your mouth. If I had one,  _I_  would know.”

Iplier didn’t think he’d be serious about this. “Sit  _still_.” he demanded, trying to keep his patient in place. Edward was trying to do his  _job_  here. He flicked the bandage wrapped tightly around Marvin’s head. “Seems normal. Changed recently, it appears.”

“That hurt!” cried the sorcerer, helplessly squirming in bed. Swatting his hand away, he cradled his skull in his hand, sending a scathing glare at the doctor. Edward couldn’t care  _less_. “When’ll this heal?”

“Give or take, a couple of days, and your pretty face is back to normal.” Iplier held his chin in between his thumb and pointer to tilt it at a better angle. “You’re lucky this isn’t skin deep. Would’ve been a waste.”

“I’ve had  _worse_.” replied Marvin, sinking back into his pillows, warmth pooling down his spine. “Shoulda’ seen me back in the day.”

Edward rolled his eyes, and was more interested about his hero that night. “So who’s the knight in shining armor?”

“Give me a second,” the man popped out of nowhere. Right when it happened, he drops his name that night. He hardly had the time to register what was even going on. “Bim. Was it Bim?”

“How  _horrible_. You can’t even remember his name.” commented Edward, seemingly disappointed by his memory span or his capacity to care about it. He exhales in mock frustration.

Marvin retorts with an annoyed growl. “You expect me to recall all that in a  _second_?”

“More or less,” Iplier directed his attention to the gauze he had, placing them back into the trolley cart with the rest of the medical supplies.

“When will I discharge?” Marvin shifts himself in a comfortable position. “I need to get out of this place. I have this kid’s birthday party, and I don’t want a no-show.”

“About a day or so.”

“And the bill?”

“Your boyfriend already arranged payment for yours.” smiled the doctor, and his friend makes a soft surprised sound.

“He did  _what_  now?”

Edward fishes out his phone out of his pockets, instantly remembering that he had other patients to tend to. “I have an appointment at this hour. I won’t be long.” he promised, retreating to the door.

“Already?” his eyes drooped, seeing his old companion approach the exit with his hands wrapped on the knob, in a hurry to leave.

“Oh, and there’s someone waiting for you outside,” Iplier announced, raising his head to Marvin’s direction with concern in his eyes. “He insisted he’d stay, said he had something important to discuss with you.”

“It isn’t him, is it?”

Edward takes a short pause before turning his head to offer him a small smile. “That’s for you to find out.” the doctor opens the door to reveal none other than The Host in his bandages. What business does he have here? The only message he brings were bad omens, things he didn’t want to hear about.

Once inside, the seer wasted no time and opened his mouth to deliver the news. “The Host wishes to speak with Marvin, preferably in private.”

“Can’t this wait?” he asked stubbornly, refusing to listen to his nonsense. He follows the man with his gaze as he makes his way into the room, locking the door behind him.

It closes with a soft click, and the soothsayer occupied the seat to his side. “The Host warns the Magnificent that if he were to miss this, there would be serious repercussions.”

“I’m sure it’ll be  _fine_.” he assured him, finding no problem with it.

The performer’s lax and confidence worries his companion, forcing him to further his point. “The Host implores you, for he sees a terrible future.”

“In the next thirty or so minutes?”

“The Host predicts in about ten minutes.”

“That’s oddly specific.” which didn’t give him any credit. As much as Marvin wanted to worry him less, he had things planned out for the day. His career was on the line. It was either him or his paychecks. Not even Iplier could stop him from sprinting right out of his bed and back into his magician robe.

“The Host agrees, which is why Marvin must be wise about his next moves.” the seer advised, gesturing to the duffel that contained his change of clothes.

Marvin breathes out a light chuckle. “ _Relax_ , because I’m tellin’ ya,  _nothing_  could go wrong.”

“The Host does not think so, and only wishes the safety of his friend.” he replied, not believing a single word coming out of Marvin’s mouth. He knew what was about to come, and he couldn’t stand there to  _watch_.

Sadly, Marvin does not share the same thoughts as his visiting friend. “When I snap my fingers, you  _will_  sleep.”

“The Host happens to be immune to hypnotism, and it would not work that easily.” he claimed, sitting firmly in his chair.

“A little bit of magic might.” the performer flicked his wrist, sending a flurry of his spell at the Host.

At the snap of his finger, the Host drops to the side of his bed, the fall of his head cushioned by the bed. He struggled to try not to submit to the Magnificent’s influence, but he had no power to fight back the terrible urge to succumb to sleep. Marvin commends him for his effort.

“Sorry, my friend, but I still have a party to go to.” and his paycheck was (impatiently) waiting.

Gently tossing the blanket to the side, he slides off the bed, steps back to see where the Host lay. He looked peaceful in his state of sleep. He managed to wheeze a short laugh.

This allowed him just enough time to slip into his civilian clothes, grab his keys and be on his way. It would only be for an hour. He promised he would come back, behave a bit more properly. With all his items retrieved, he proceeds to the door.

He was out of the room as fast as he could. Bolting straight to the emergency stairs, he teleported through many steps at a time. Ten minutes, huh?

In a matter of minutes, the spell he had induced would wear off on the Host. It barely took an ounce of his magic for it to work, hardly enough to harm him. He wonders how he could catch up to him at this point. Marvin was ahead of him by two blocks, giving him the time to make a run for it. He had gone through the back, where not even the doctor would think of finding him there. The magician was almost a free man. He was very well close to the end of the alleyway, up until a particular figure was standing in the way of his path. His smile drops  _instantly_.

Wiggles.

Pale hands gripped the neck of his booze, shirt slightly wrinkled, and his stance was wavering. A bit tipsy, swaying side to side. His make-up was smeared, the red stretching to his ear—eyes, bloodshot. Likely had a beer or two. Probably had more from the looks of it. Behind his eyes lie a hidden intent, and whatever his motives were would be a mystery to him. He did not want to risk the possibility of pissing him off, knowing how violent this man could get.

Stumbling over to his direction, the clown scans him head to toe. Cautiously, Marvin steps back, trying to hold down his anxiety and calm himself for the moment. This might be the ten minutes scenario the Host had predicted.

He takes a generous swig of his alcohol before lowering it from his lips; gives him a smirk. “Seems you’ve been working extra shifts now.”

“I can’t entirely rely on my magic career.” he confessed, slowly circling around him, trying to find a way through.  Encounters with him don’t usually end pretty. Judging the way he held the bottle, he knew right away that this person was not thinking straight— _far_  from it. “Kids are getting tired of watching the same old tricks.”

“Figures,” scoffed the clown. “You and your cheap  _tricks_  won’t go that far.” not in this life, he won’t.

“Sadly, it won’t cover much of my insurances.” he managed a friendly air, but even that did not fool the fool. How much does he know? This leaves a nasty feeling in his guts. Fear, guilt, regret, or whatever it was, it definitely did not do his mind any good. This had  _nothing_  to do with his job. Wiggles was  _after_  him. “But this isn’t about that, is it?”

It was  _something else_.

“You see, I’ve a pal. He’s been  _dying_  to see you.” a deep chuckle rises from his throat, sending chills down his spine.

“Sounds like someone I wouldn’t want to know.”

“And he has a proposition to offer.”

Marvin was quick to shut him down, pivoted on his heels to sprint to safety. With his back facing the clown, he was tripped unexpectedly, as if by chance. Wiggles towers over him, bending down to come and collect him. He won’t go down  _that_  easy.

Panic kicks in as the magician blocks the seizing hands of his colleague in anticipation, tried to break free from the grip of his fingers, looped around his wrist. He had managed to catch it, twisting it to draw a cry from Marvin. He ripped it back from his attacker, holds up his hand in order to cast a spell at the last second.

In that very moment, he caught a glimpse of the hands of his wristwatch, enough to distract him from focusing his aim.

Ten minutes. All it took was  _ten_. Way too specific, if you ask him.

The clown stops him in time to deflect the blast, snatching his arm before he could land a hit on him.

“Yeah, I don’t think so.”

His party would have to wait, it would seem.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So um, yeah. Iplier and Marvin have known each other for quite some time. Another inspiration taken from that night I have mentioned!


	3. Nothing Personal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was just business. Strictly professional.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It so happens that Wiggles definitely can commune with the dead.

The sound of glass on the wooden counter snaps him right out of his stupor. He didn’t look too happy about it. The bags under his eyes were darker than it was supposed to be, and that wasn’t just the make-up. He looked _ragged_. “What was it this time?”

A mop of curls scoffed, as if to imply he had no plans on telling him. It was strictly confidential between him and his client, as per request of his said client. He was not to speak or even so much as _breathe_ a word of it. The agreement was to hand over a particular someone of some sorts, told him that he was the key to solving everything. He had been too busy wrestling with a colleague of his to bother with the specifics. It wasn’t likely that he would go down without a fight, and a fight he did get. The rest was for him to figure out himself.

With a resigned sigh, he collected the cup into his hands. “Put it on the tabs.”

“Fancy paying?”

“Oh, no. Not today, at least.”

The sommelier grunted impatiently and leaves him alone with his thoughts. He then proceeds to wipe the corners of used cups out of his collection, silently cursing at the smudge of color he would leave on each one of them.

Smothered in red lipstick was the brim of the shot glass. It was then set down on the coaster, and the man ducks his head into his chest. The taste of his concoction lingers in his mouth, and the smell of booze wafted in the air. The counter had barely anyone in it, with the exception of the bartender and the broken man himself, downing the intoxicating liquid. He had been anticipating the presence of someone entirely new, and different was he from the rest. Delusional. Merciless. Kills in cold blood without even a single trace of guilt on him. In _denial_.

A true _madman_ who had no regards to life—but that was only the beginning to his surface. One could not truly understand what he is. _He_ might.

“A pleasant day, ain’t it?”

With a slam of the door, the alleged killer walks right through the establishment wearing a sly grin. At first glance, he could fool _anyone_ in the mask he was wearing, never failed to give away what truly lies beneath it— _no one could tell the difference_.

Drawn by this sudden visit, Wiggles looked at the approaching figure with equal interest. Slithering down his throat, the drink had this burning sensation that leaves a bitter aftertaste in his mouth. Placing it back to its coaster, he chuckles. “Can’t get any better than this.”

Tucked in his pocket was his pair of broken glasses, he’d noticed. He turns his head to his direction, studying him carefully. “How _odd_.”

In disbelief, the man cried in mock outrage. “Ya callin’ _me_ odd?”

“Well, I mean, what’s a fella like you doing _here_?” of all places, why the bar? His profession didn’t come with getting drunk off whiskey. Unless it does, then none of this made much sense to Wilford.

“Says the freak with the stupid getup.” countered the stranger, to his surprise.

The lunatic observed his person, pointing out the fact that they shared a liking for suspenders. He could recall that he used to have one with the same color. “I can say the same to you.”

“It, uh, used to be part of the job.” he picked at the red strap, stretching it with his fingers before letting it go.

Wilford sent him a look which gives away his uneasiness. It was rare for him to encounter people who would outright insult him for the clothes he had on. Perhaps this guy did not understand his fashion. “Don’t you have places to go?”

“Nobody needs a clown anymore. Haven’t ya heard?”

“Then what are you in here for?”

In return, the clown laughs for a brief moment. “Same question.”

“Am I obliged to tell you?” Wilford slinks into the stool right next to the inebriated jester, very much intoxicated himself. Shoulders slacked, he turns to look his way in order to meet eyes with this peculiar man. “How’s about another round? It’s on me.”

“I was hopin’ I could get a night to myself, ease the mind,” Wiggles relented to his offer. He may need a glass or two after this. “Been expectin’ ya.”

“Do I know you?” he siddled forward, narrowing his eyes skeptically. This man sounded like he does. This was his second time around in the state, so it would explain why he had someone recognize him. Though, it wasn’t be ideal to have his identity revealed.

“Long story,” he explained briefly, sparing him all the details. “Short answer is, no. You do _not_.”

“Is there anything else I’d like to know about me?” he prodded as he tried to get an answer out of him. If that was what he was after, then he was about to get one. All he had to do was ask the right questions.

Fresh bruising on his knuckles showed as he lifted the drink for a gulp. Knocked someone out with enough force, he’d figured. The performer takes lengthy sip before exhaling a refreshed sigh. He didn’t look nearly as amused. “Heard you’s been trigger-happy.”

“Why, I’m not guilty of any crime, mind you! My hands are _clean_.” he claimed in his defense, showing him his hands. As if that would be any help. He laughed shortly, signalling to the bar tender. He would have the usual, he mouthed to the attending barkeep and the man went to work. “I didn’t _kill_ anyone—”

“The _nerve_ you got there—now, _that_ , I appreciate.” the performer chuckled dryly at his attempt to declare his innocence. “You’s killed plenty in your time. And you’ll undoubtedly kill more.”

Had they met before? Wilford wanted to know. “Who exactly _are_ you?”

“Does it matter?” he managed after a generous swig out of his drink while Wilford waited for his. He followed his every move with his eyes as he was jealous of how much alcohol he had already consumed. The clown presses his eyes shut.

“Of course! For all I know, you’re a… complete psycho!” reasoned he. Finally, his drink arrived, and Wilford was quick to raise the tiny cup to his lips.

Emptied and unsatisfied, the man reached for his tonic, and poured it into his container. Wiggles didn’t mind as he had his eyes closed the entire time. “Trust me, I am many things, but psychopath ain’t the word.”

“Oh, is that so?” Wilford asked in pure curiosity as he helped himself to his refilled cup. He wonders how this man does it, as he never failed to catch his attention with every word he had said. “Do tell me more.”

“I’m more of a… _psychic_.” he was a Jack of all trades, master of none. He was desperate to keep his walls, so he had to pay it somehow other than clown money. “I specialize in telepathy. I am what you’s would call a mind reader.”

A pause. Wilford takes a pause. “Interesting. Is there a chance you could—well, _I don’t know_ —prove it to me?”

“For starters, I know ya name.” he boasted, wiggling his brows. This made Wilford swallow.

“Let’s see you try.”

“And if I get it right?”

“Then, I owe you another shot.” he had promised, thrilled how this would work out. He couldn’t get it right, knowing how he didn’t have just one name.

“Oh dear me, where are my manners?” he sent a smile his way. There was something about this person that made him tick. “I’m Wiggles the clown— _that’s me_. And if I am not mistaken, you are a Will. Wilfred?”

“Not even remotely close!” he lied, knowing he had gone by one too many names. There was no guarantee he could narrow it down, after every pseudonym after pseudonym he had.

The jester took his time to poke around in his head. Wilford watched him furrow his brows in thought. It didn’t take long before he could answer. “Is it… Wilford Warfstache?”

 _Close enough_. But that wasn’t the real one. Currently, yes, but that wasn’t the one he was expecting to come out of his mouth. “Lucky guess.”

“William, I’d wager,” a big grin crafted its way to Wiggle’s face, teeth showing through the vibrant red of his lips. What gave it away? The shock on the other man’s features was priceless. He was correct, and did the man _hate_ it. “William J. Barnum.”

At once, the former soldier became sober. He was astounded by this man. “That’s a name I haven’t heard in a _long_ while.”

“There’s more to it than that. I can read into your past, if you’d like,” Wiggles was feeling lucky. His pockets were about to become heavy with bills in it. “It comes with a fee, of course.”

“What services do you offer?”

“Got a dearly departed loved one you’d like to commune with?”

Wilford didn’t think twice before extracting a was of cash out of his pockets only to hand it over to the self-proclaimed seer. “I want to… see them again.”

“And see them, you _will_.” promised the clown, turns to the barkeep to ask for the bill. He hands over the wads, paid for both of then before he stalks off. “It was great doin’ business with ya, Mister.”

Determined to see their deal through, he was quick to follow him on his way out of the pub. “Won’t you contact them for me?”

With his back to the delusional veteran, he vanished. All Wilford could do was stand there to watch, let the funny man slip into the shadows. He was quite disoriented. Was it from the alcohol? A voice creeps into his head before his knees wobbled, uncontrollably shaking. “See ya around, Colonel.”

Sweat sprung up his palms. He tried to blink once, twice, tried to shake it off. But there was no use to it. His vision started to blur the moment he heard him call him by his title.

 _Only his friends can call him that_.


	4. Encore

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Seemingly lost trying to navigate his way through the doors that never seem to end, Wilford takes his time walking around in circles.

Cold.

Unbelievably cold.

It was more of a biting cold, his skin shivering upon contact. The colonel rolled over to his sides to find himself lying on the rock-hard surface of what seemed to be the floor. How _odd_ to have found himself in that predicament.

Empty is the room he was currently in, him being its only occupant. He tried to recall how he ended up passing out on that very spot, but his mind was blank as a slate. Last thing he could remember was the very second he woke up. Where could he _possibly_ be? Gust of winds tore the doors wide open. Unfavorable winds slapped him right in the face, prompting him to get back on his footing.

Rising to his feet, the former military personnel did a quick sweep of the area. Washed out color of grays, a splash of dull gold. Marble columns shot high into the ceiling. Chandeliers glistened over his head, and a soft tune was being played. He found peace in the soothing melody, washing over him like waves of relief.

Beyond that was pure nothingness. He exhales a confused sigh. “ _Bully_ , what a day.”

Dusting his khaki pants, and as he adjusted his red suspenders, the man absently brushed his moustache. A new wing started to materialize before him. He could have sworn there wasn’t absolutely anything past the pitch black darkness. Curiosity getting the better of him, he decided he wanted to check it out. Perhaps he might find some answers from there. And, quite possibly, a reasonable explanation of how and _why_ he was there in the first place.

Tall posters had been posted down the long, winding hallway. Wilford tried to register where he was and what was going on. He tried to wrap his head around the ordeal. What was happening? It takes him a full minute before his mind could comprehend what had been going on. The sign was plain and clear: he was in a _theatre_.

“ _Oh_ ,” Wilford hummed in understanding once he had processed where he is. “Goodie, a show!”

With a skip in his step, he ventured further into the hall, blissfully unaware of the perils going in alone in that very room.

For what felt like an eternity of wandering, the man had been going in circles, losing track of where he had gone and where he was going to. The halls seemed to stretch farther out the moment he thought he was getting too close to the end of it. Instinctively, he followed through with his urge to find out where all this will lead him to.

Surely, it might give him answers as to why he was placed there. Or perhaps, something else.

He had no idea, the poor soul.

He can’t fully blame him.

Exactly as he had predicted, his endless wandering had brought him straight to a person. It was good to see a familiar face out of it all. Dressed in a tailored waistcoat, hair neatly trimmed and pushed to one side, the man welcomed him with a warm smile. He bears a calm presence to him, like he had known him his whole life.

“Right this way, sir.” he marvelled at the way he carried himself with elegance as he showed him to his seat. Might be how he had this air to him that he couldn’t quite place his finger on.

It felt as though he had been friends with this man for a significant amount of time that he can’t help but feel comfortable with him. “Do I _know_ you?”

“The show is about to start, and you might not want to miss it.” suggested he, pointing at the enormous screen. He follows what he was referring to, carefully studying it before it begins.

A silent film, he would guess.

“What’s it about?”

“It is for you to find out.”


End file.
